“I’m a null. The only talent I have is the ability to break any spell or curse.” Morgan refused to have the future she had mapped out before her altered. She was too good a hunter to be sidetracked. She couldn’t bear to be trapped in a future she detested. “I can’t cast.”
An inability to cast was tantamount to a terminal illness for witches.
Some of the teachers who had crowded closer to get a better look now turned away in pity, not wanting to get too near, as if her inability to cast was catching.
McKay didn’t appear convinced, but after studying Morgan for another few minutes, she reluctantly conceded. “Very well. You won’t be expected to attend classes, but I do expect you to read the books I assign you, and give me detailed reports on what you’ve learned. You will stop by my office after your evening practice, and we will go over your assignments.”
Her relief was so intense her legs nearly dropped out from under her.
“Thank you.” Morgan wasn’t sure if she’d spoken out loud or not, but McKay gave a slight tip of her head in acknowledgment.
That’s when Morgan knew McKay was covering for her.
She knew the truth.
Or she suspected.
Morgan had more than just basic magic.
And the runes on her back were growing in power, enhancing her abilities.
Sooner or later, she would no longer be able to hide it from everyone else.
Even though the runes were covered, the thin shirt she wore felt like a flimsy barrier. She turned on her heel and darted from the room, ignoring Neil’s shout to wait.
Chapter Eleven
The walls of the Academy began to close in on her, and Morgan desperately needed to escape the suffocating primordial magic.
She didn’t trust it.
Worse…she didn’t trust herself near it.
She clutched the metal around her neck for reassurance. As if her touch activated it, the torque began to stretch and twirl, reshaping into a chandelier necklace with little daggers hanging from each twisted metal strand—a silent vow to keep her safe—and she hiccupped on a laugh at the inevitability of her future.
Her shameful secret burned and twisted through her gut. The marks along her spine felt heavy, threatening to crush her. Instead, the runes heated, wrapping around her ribs like a hug.
She wasn’t reassured.
Soon or later the torque would fail to protect her, and the magic would escape.
The necklace was already weakening.
Morgan picked up her pace, instinctively turning right at the four-way hall, and spotted two large double doors some distance ahead. She leapt off the top step and dropped down a whole flight of stairs, rolling onto her shoulder to absorb some of the impact. Seconds later she was up and running again. Even as she neared, the great doors creaked open, giving her a wide-open view of the mountain vista.
People milling about outside turned to gawk at her when the doors banged open.
The large terrace out back was startlingly narrow.
Instead of fetching up against the stone railing, strong arms wrapped around her from behind. She was spun around, dragged away from the precipice, until her back was smashed against the stone wall of the Academy.
The move was so swift, Morgan didn’t react as she struggled to catch her breath.
A large body was pressed intimately against her, every inch of him hard and packed with muscles. He smelled wild and green and of freedom, a combination that made her want to bury her nose against his chest.
She was so distracted, it took her a second to notice the weapon at his hip.
“You found it.” She reached out, touching the blade she lost in the forest the night before she left for the Academy. When she looked up, she wasn’t surprised to find Ryder gazing down at her. He had his hand braced against the wall above their heads, the other resting on her hip, holding her close.
She watched him swallow, his grip tightening, and she could have sworn he leaned closer to sniff her hair.
She should have shoved him away, but something about the way he ducked away from her look, almost bashful at being caught, stayed her hand. His shoulder-length hair was windblown, different shades of blond streaks lightening the brown in what should have been a shaggy mess, but she liked it. It suited him. Stubble lined his face, giving him a gruff appearance she found appealing. He was almost too pretty to look at without blatantly ogling at him like some love-starved dork.
He nodded, reluctantly straightening, putting a whole two inches between them, and withdrew the blade. “You saved my life.”
Morgan shivered at the growly tone of his voice. It was so deep she wanted him to say something else just so she could feel it rumble through her again. She waved away his praise for her small part in the fight. “You give me too much credit. You had the minotaur well in hand. I’ve never seen a team fight together so smoothly.”
His eyes flickered toward hers, pleasure brightening them before he quickly looked down again. He flipped the blade, caught the tip, and thrust it out to her.
The expression on his face made it look like she was stealing his favorite toy, and she didn’t have the heart to take it from him. Though he was big and bold, there was something very gentle, almost fragile, about him when he gazed at her.
“Why don’t you keep it?”
His head snapped up, hope shining in his soft, whisky-colored eyes. He searched her face and, at the moment it appeared he would return the weapon anyway, he reverently re-sheathed it at his side.
Before either of them could react, a large wolf edged its nose between them, wiggling his entire body for attention.
Morgan grinned at his enthusiasm, but when she reached out to brush his fur, Ryder’s large hand clamped around her wrist, engulfing her arm in his grip. Though she was tall, his size almost made her feel dainty. She peered up at him in question, and she nearly quailed at his hard expression, his wolf hunkered close to the surface.
“He’s a werewolf.”
Morgan blinked up at him, not at all surprised, since the beast was the size of a small pony. “Yes.”
Ryder blinked in surprise, studying her closer before he spoke. “You’re not afraid.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Of course not.”
But instead of being pleased, he scowled down at her. “Wolves are not dogs. A person should never touch a werewolf. They are more likely to take off your hand and eat it, all the while smiling at you.”
It wasn’t that Morgan didn’t believe him, but Ascher and the wolf last night never showed any inclination to attack. Her markings didn’t react to them at all. Instead, she’d swear that the beasts enjoyed her company. She was sure of it. The wolf sitting docile a few feet away from them didn’t show any reaction to their discussion.
She concentrated on the markings along her back, but didn’t pick up anything other than eagerness and joy. “I don’t see it. All I can sense from him is his willingness to play, as if he’s inviting me to join his game or something.”
Ryder’s eyebrows shot up, and even the wolf seemed to be staring at her oddly, until she grew uncomfortable.
“You can sense animals?”
Morgan wished she had simply nodded and avoided all these awkward questions. “No, not really. It’s more that I am sensitive to anything from the primordial realm. Although werewolves no longer live there, they still use magic when they transform. It allows me to get a sense of danger. If he posed a threat, I would’ve sensed it.”
“Have you told anyone else about this ability?” He took a step toward her, then checked himself.
There was an urgency in his voice she wasn’t sure she liked. “No. Not really.”
At her answer, tension melted out of his shoulders. “Good. Don’t.”
Morgan wouldn’t have been more surprised if he’d reached out and goosed her.
Before she could ask for more information, he glanced around them suspiciously, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
“There are a lot of creatures who won’t be happy if they learn about your ability to sense them. They survive on anonymity. Most would view your skill as a threat. While it might be useful trait for a hunter, it would also paint a target on you.”
Morgan deflated a bit. Why wasn’t she surprised?
The more clues she unearthed about her mysterious past, the more the danger stalking her intensified.
“Thank you for the warning.”
When she didn’t scoff at him, Ryder seemed to find the ground fascinating, scuffing his feet against the stone a little restlessly. The wolf inched closer, nudging his head under Ryder’s hand, and he scratched at the beast almost absently. “This is Kaleb. He turned last month and is getting his wolf legs under him. Right now, he’s pure wolf until he can remember his human side.”
“You mean he’s stuck?” Morgan gaped at the wolf in dismay, the same wolf who had his eyes closed in ecstasy. It was almost too easy to forget they were human underneath the fur.
Ryder seemed to regret bringing up the conversation at her gauche question, glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes. “Some transitions are traumatic. Kaleb was bitten, not born, so it’s hard to know if he will ever return to his human form.”
Sadness darkened his eyes for a moment. “It will make his life harder. If he doesn’t earn a place in the pack, or find a witch to take him under her protection, his chances for survival are slim.”
The prospects sounded so grim, Morgan glanced down at the wolf, noting for the first time the hollowness of his stomach, the slight outline of his ribs. She had assumed he was a growing pup. Now she wasn’t so sure.
“What will happen to him?” She spoke in a hush, not wanting to disturb their peace. She suspected they didn’t get much of it.
“For now, he’ll run with the others and guard the Academy. Hopefully, he’ll be noticed and gain a sponsor.”
And she had no doubt Ryder was doing everything in his power to make it happen, even walking him on school grounds during the day. Despite her resolve to keep her distance from the rest of the students, she was softening toward the big man.
The wolf lifted his head and gave a bark, then charged off down the pathway.
“Shite.” Ryder took two long strides after the beast, when he seemed to remember her.
He stumbled to a stop, half turned toward her, clearly torn, but she waved him off. “Go.”
He gave her a blinding smile, and she was blindsided by her sudden shortness of breath for a completely different reason. While he was gorgeous, when he smiled he was absolutely stunning. It completely rocked her that he didn’t have a posse of women chasing after him.
To her surprise, talking with him calmed the panic that had been clawing up her insides like a deranged leprechaun digging for gold.
He reminded her everyone had their own troubles.
She might be sinking, but she knew how to swim.
She would find her way out of this mess, as she always had in the past.
As she passed the double doors and headed back inside, she nearly plowed over a breathless Neil.
“Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you everywhere!” He bent over, his hands on his knees, panting to catch his breath. “I even tried to cast a spell to find you, but it was like you didn’t exist.”
Morgan reached out, straightening the glasses on his face, but no matter how she adjusted them, they remained askew, and finally she dropped her hands in defeat. “Remember, magic doesn’t work well on me. I believe I’ve developed a sort of immunity to it.”
She should have, considering how many torture sessions the witches put her through.
Neil straightened, pressing his hand against his side to lessen the pain. “What you did in class was amazing. I don’t think they’ve seen anyone with so much power in decades.”
Morgan turned on her heel, wanting to get away from his excitement. She made a fool of herself in class. “Its power I can’t access. Touching magic is painful. I was lucky the rock exploded and not my head.”
“Oh, yeah.” He had the grace to blanch, his interest fading a bit.
“Why does it matter so much?”
His mouth dropped open in astonishment. “You’re kidding, right? Not only can witches open and close portals, but the more power they can master, the more respect they get.” At her confused expression, he continued. “The less power a witch controls, the more they’re turned into a lackey, nothing more than brood mares in the hope that they can produce stronger offspring. It’s why witches are allowed so many mates. The stronger the witch, the more hunters she is allowed to select as her protectors.”
Morgan grimaced, remembering the deplorable way Catalina treated the hunters at the coven. “Hunters deserve more respect.”
Neil shrugged his bony shoulders, not agreeing or disagreeing. “There is one witch for every fifty hunters. It’s no wonder they see them as disposable. While hunters might fight the creatures who pass through the rift, only a witch can close a portal and stop the spread.”
A babble of voices came from down the hall. When they turned the corner, the doors to the cafeteria stood open, the place more of a food court. “Hope you don’t mind. I’m starved.”
“Sure.” Morgan’s stomach growled at the delicious smells. Instead of the cafeteria and benches of a normal school, there were a number of what appeared to be little food stations, each offering delicacies from different nationalities.
She followed Neil to a little deli offering burgers and fries. The line was short, the food hot and surprisingly tasty. And plentiful, which was good, since a good portion of a hunter’s day was spent keeping sharp and fit, which burned a lot of calories.
Watching Neil eat almost made her lose her appetite. Though he dug in with gusto, he missed his mouth half the time, catchup smearing his face, talking with his mouth full, regaling her with stories from his first year. A snort escaped him when he laughed, and she smiled reflexively, the sound kind of charming in a dorky way.
Teachers circled the room, a few of them staring at her a little longer than normal before glancing away when she caught them gawking at her.
“They’re monitors.” His lips curled in a snarl with all the ferocity of a puppy. “Don’t worry about them. They only interfere when someone’s on the verge of death. Otherwise, you’re on your own. They consider it part of our training to keep our own selves alive.”
As if fate was determined to make her day a miserable failure, Harper and her entourage entered the cafeteria, and all eyes in the room were automatically drawn toward them.
And with reason.
Their outfits had to cost a fortune, their froufrou clothing so tight, it could have been painted on them. It wasn’t conducive to fighting or running or even walking…or breathing, for that matter.
When their eyes connected, a spark of malice gleamed in Harper’s blue eyes. “I do have to say you fail your exams spectacularly. We’ll have to hope you do better as a hunter. It would be a shame for you to be sent home the week you arrived.”
The three girls of her entourage twittered like magpies.
“No need for your concern.” Morgan pushed away her almost empty tray, and rose to her feet. “I’ve already been assigned to a team. In fact, we go out on our first mission tonight.”
Her pink lips puckered in displeasure, a scowl darkening her face. “Who?”
Morgan wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
Too late now.
Harper would discover the truth eventually.
“Kincade.”
Harper stalked closer on the stilts she called shoes, and Morgan was surprised to see they were the same height, though she had a good twenty pounds of muscle on Harper. “You leave him alone. He’s mine.”
The hissed words were meant as a threat, but Morgan laughed. “Kincade doesn’t strike me as your type.”
“He’s the best, and so am I.” She poked her finger at Morgan, waving it around like a weapon, but stop
ped short of touching her. “It’s only a matter of time before we’re paired, so don’t get any ideas.”
Morgan was surprised steam didn’t rise from Harper’s dainty ears. She wanted to taunt the twit more, but the mention of pairing and mating disgusted her, and she wanted nothing to do with it. “You go ahead and stick with your assigned mates like good little robots. If I ever decide to take a lover, it will be my choice.”
For some reason, Harper burst out laughing. “Oh, how quaint. Let me know how that works for you.”
Chapter Twelve
Needing to work off some steam, Morgan headed toward the gym.
The sight of Draven and Atlas sparring brought her up short.
Or maybe sparring wasn’t quite accurate—beating the crap out of each other might actually fit better. She scooted around the edge of the room, then leaned against the wall to watch them work, so fascinated she didn’t notice the mats’ old, sweaty smell.
The men’s every move was elegant and beautifully controlled, their muscles like well-oiled machines. The rest of the world didn’t exist while they each focused solely on annihilating the other. It was hypnotizing to watch.
While both men were phenomenal fighters, each fought with a completely different style.
Atlas was smooth, almost elegant, every blow and step placed with precision. Draven was no less captivating as he bounced on his feet, studying his opponent and waiting for an opening, every inch of him raw power and passion.
Water versus fire.
Neither was willing to give an inch.
Morgan wasn’t aware of edging closer, until Draven spotted her and grinned—which meant he didn’t see the blow that knocked him clear off his feet and flat on his ass.
“Sorry.” She winced in sympathy, feeling foolish her thoughtless actions had distracted him and cost him his match.
Both men were panting, so sweaty their clothes stuck to their bodies, leaving nothing to the imagination. Draven rolled over with a groan and sat, staring up at her. “No worries. If you think you can do better, you’re welcome to try.”
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